


Wearing Thin

by TheJellyfishQueen



Series: Ode [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, pls let her sleep, the good hunter just needs a nap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25607698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJellyfishQueen/pseuds/TheJellyfishQueen
Summary: The Night of the Hunt goes on forever.
Relationships: The Hunter/Plain Doll
Series: Ode [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962082
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Wearing Thin

**Author's Note:**

> Because I was frustrated that an entire hyperfixation came and went without any writing coming out of it. Hopefully now I can rest. In the meantime, have an unedited draft!

The Hunter woke again in the dream with a start.

No matter how many times she’d been struck down by the beasts of Yharnam, no matter how many times she’d perished in the same seemingly-endless night, it was something she hadn’t gotten used to - each awakening was a sudden, violent thing. Her eyes would snap open and she would gasp for breath, still clutching at where the final blow had been struck, before looking around and situating herself in the now-familiar fiend of simple white flowers.

She shot up like a wakened sleeper, pulling the leather mask from her face and screaming bloody murder in shock and frustration. 

“You’ve returned, Good Hunter,” came a quiet voice. The Doll’s Voice.

This time, the Doll was here to greet her. She - _it?_ \- stood among the flowers beside her with her porcelain hands folded gently in her lap. 

“I hadn’t meant to,” the Hunter replied curtly. “At least, not quite so soon.”

Wincing, the Hunter scrambled to her feet. Though the Doll never complained, never objected, being short with her still brought a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t the Doll’s fault she was back here again, in the Dream.

“Did you find someone from the Church, Good Hunter?”

She shook her head.

“There _is_ no Church. Not anymore. They’ve all turned.”

The Doll made a quiet noise of understanding, but offered no further advice. 

Sensing their brief conversation was over, or that the Doll had nothing further to add, the Hunter huffed, and started up the incline to Gehrman’s little cottage.

Despite the fire crackling in its hearth, the workshop was scarcely a degree warmer than outside. Books and dust and other nameless objects gathered on every available surface, spilling onto the floor in stacks when there was no more space. The workshop was a mess, as it always was, and the old man himself was nowhere to be seen. What better time to have a look around, the Hunter reasoned.

The Doll appeared in the doorway halfway through turning out the contents of a cabinet.

“Good Hunter? What are you doing?” she asked. There was no accusation or affront in her voice, only her usual benign curiosity.

“Gehrman used to be a Hunter like me, didn’t he?” she asked, turning back to her work. “He must have something hidden away here, something _useful_.”

“What is it you hope to find?”

By way of reply, the Hunter reached blindly behind a battered portrait-frame, and made a satisfied noise when her fingers curled around something vaguely weapon-shaped. 

Sadly, it was only a bottle - the label was too faded to read, but inspection revealed the bottle was full of dark liquid. Wine. Red, of course.

On the bright side, she’d found wine.

“That wasn't what I had in mind, but it'll do,” she declared.

The Hunter looked over at the Doll, still standing in the doorway and cocking her head to the side, regarding her oddly.

“Do you drink?” she asked, waving the bottle towards the Doll. “I’ve never seen you drink.”

“I believe that belongs to Gehrman.” Neither a yes nor a no.

The Hunter huffed, grabbing a thick blanket off a nearby table on her way out into the Dream.

“Tell him I’ll find him another.”

She came to a stop at the edge of the garden. There, the Hunter’s Dream fell away to mist, and a convenient rise made a comfortable place to rest against and look out over the pillars. She didn't know what the pillars’ purpose was. She couldn't see what they were built on. Like everything else in this forsaken place, they were a God-damned mystery. 

For now, they could stay a mystery, the Hunter decided. She sat with the blanket hugged tight around her. Though no breeze ever blew through the Hunter’s Dream - suspiciously so - there was still a chill in the air that the Hunter couldn’t shake, a chill that wormed its fingers into her very bones.

The Hunter gripped the cork between her teeth and pulled, relishing the sound it made when it popped free. It was sour on her tongue. Had it always been so sour? She could barely remember a life before Yharnam, before the Hunt. 

She could barely remember her own name. For tonight, she was a Hunter. That would have to be all.

A second swig of sour wine joined the first. Minutes later, gentle footfalls heralded the Doll, come to check on her. 

She didn't know if the Doll could even feel cold, but all the same, she wordlessly held the blanket open to offer her space under it. The Doll sat delicately, mechanically, the same way she did everything. She folded her legs primly beneath her and accepted the blanket without comment. 

For a while, they simply sat in silence. The Hunter’s mind had already grown so unused to the idea of sharing closeness for its own sake. It was… nice, she supposed, to have someone in her space for a reason other than tearing her apart. She took a long pull of the bottle.

Eventually, the Doll spoke again.

“Good Hunter, if I may… when was the last time you slept?”

The Hunter stopped. The question was rhetorical, of course. She had no doubt the Doll had been watching over her the last time she’d snuck off into the garden for a few furtive minutes of restless sleep. She hadn't felt safe in the little cottage. Didn't trust Gehrman not to try anything. 

She’d awoken partway through a nightmare, her waking life apparently not having become torment enough. But the old lecher was nowhere to be seen, and her pistol’s comforting weight was still in her hand when she woke.

But how long ago had that been?

Time was difficult to keep track of in Yharnam, it seemed. The night felt like it went on forever. 

But the Blood…

Every time she took the Blood, it brought awareness, made the fatigue weighing on her eyes and the hunger-ache in her stomach seem just a little further away. It was invigorating, the effect it had on both body and mind. Gehrman’s wine collection could hardly compare.

“I don’t know,” she deflected, not looking up. “A while.”

“Even a Hunter such as yourself must sleep,” the Doll insisted, like a fussing governess. 

The Hunter looked at her. Although the Doll’s placid expression hadn't changed, she could almost swear her face had adopted a pleading cast to it, one that made her stubbornness crumble. 

“I'll sleep come morning, alright? I promise.”

“Morning may be a long time coming, Dear Hunter.”

The Hunter snorted. That was the truth, and they both knew it. 

“It already feels like this night has gone on forever,” she said. 

“You can sleep here, Good Hunter. No harm will come to you.”

“No, I'm fine. I just… I just need to rest for a moment.”

Despite her insistence, the Hunter’s eyes were beginning to droop, the long night taking its toll on her now her momentum had gone. With her hat and mask gone, the Doll could see just how… worn the Hunter looked. How the dreadful Hunt had abraded the life from her and laid bare this weary soul.

“Then rest, as long as you wish.”

A short while later, the Hunter drifted off, her head resting against the Doll’s shoulder. 

In her sleep, the Hunter’s stubborn fingers had slackened, and the pistol had fallen from her grip. Gently, so as not to wake her, the Doll placed the Hunter’s firearm back in her hand and closed her fingers around it. 

Yharnam’s terrors were endless, and the Hunt was long, but for now, neither would bother her. 

The Doll placed a gentle kiss upon her Hunter’s head.

“Sleep well, Dear Hunter,” she implored.


End file.
